by Wilma Counts
The visit to the solicitor, a man named Whitcomb, produced yet another shock. Far from being run-down and in need of large infusions of money, Atherton, it seemed, was now a going concern, producing profits that were, in turn, generating other funds.
“But how . . . ? I had not thought Felkins so capable,” Trevor said, dazed. “Did my brother Marcus—”
“ ’Twasn’t Felkins. Nor your brother,” Whitcomb interrupted. “It was her—Mrs. Jeffries.”
“Mrs.—?”
“Your wife, Captain That little gel has a real head on her pretty shoulders.”
“My wife?” Trevor repeated dumbly.
“She worked with Felkins and the tenants. Pestered anyone who would listen for books and treatises. Can’t say I approve of a woman doing such, but she managed to turn that place around.”
“She did?” Trevor simply could not digest all this.
“First thing she did was instruct me to inform Wyndham that henceforth your allowance would come from your own property. And so it has—for about three years now.”
“You mean—?”
“Yes, Captain Jeffries. You have been a man of independent means for that long. But surely you knew. Surely your wife wrote you?” Whitcomb sounded confused and curious.
“Perhaps she did.” Trevor was deliberately vague. “Things were a bit chaotic where I was.”
Whitcomb gave a sympathetic chuckle. “As I say, I cannot condone a woman meddling in a man’s business, but now that you are home . . .”
Later, Trevor thought he must have nodded agreement, for Whitcomb carried on in that vein for several more minutes. Finally, Trevor left the man’s office carrying a packet of copies of reports on his estate and other financial affairs associated with it.
Back on the street, it struck him. He had not remembered to ask about dissolving the marriage. Well, perhaps he should talk with Caitlyn first. He owed her that much.
He called at Wyndham House to find his mother blessedly alone. In five years, the countess had aged only a little. A few pounds—not even a stone, he thought—and a few fine lines. His mother was fighting the battle against time with style and flair.
“Trevor, you naughty, naughty boy!” she simpered. “Why has your own mother learned of your return from common gossip?”
Trevor did not immediately respond, though he dutifully kissed the cheek she presented to him, and she went on, “I heard the news last night from Mrs. Drummond-Burrell who had it from her husband who saw you at some club.”
“You must know, Mother, that I was unsure of my reception in this house.” Something in his tone or demeanor seemed to register with his mother.
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“I am sure you know that the wishes you and Father and Gerald expressed at our last family gathering have not been fulfilled.”
“Yes. I do know, dear. That nasty bit of baggage managed to thwart our plans. But now that you are home, it will be sorted out, will it not?”
“That ‘nasty bit of baggage’ is still my wife.” His voice carried a warning note that surprised him—and was apparently not lost on his mother.
“Oh, I did not mean . . . Well, you must know, Trevor, that she is received in some circles. Not the highest ton, of course.”
“I know little of Caitlyn’s activities,” Trevor said, not wanting to admit he knew nothing. He really did not want to sit here discussing his wife, but he understood his mother well enough to know she would chew this bit of gossip to the very bone.
“She goes around in Gertrude’s tiresome literary and political circles. Oh. And I understand she is seen frequently in company with the new Viscount Latham.” The countess looked at him as though she were assessing how he would take this news.
“Latham.” Trevor kept his voice carefully neutral. He was well aware that this was the name associated with his wife at the time of their marriage—and the name of the man last night.
“I must admit,” his mother said grudgingly, “she has been discreet in this liaison. And,” she ended airily, “it really will not matter once you are rid of her.”
Trevor gritted his teeth and changed the subject to ask about his brothers and Melanie. He learned that Melanie was to arrive soon from India where she had gone after her marriage to Sheffield. Currently posted to Paris, Marcus, like Sheffield, was in the foreign service. And Gerald continued to school himself to become the fourteenth Earl of Wyndham.
Having stayed longer than he intended, he finally took his leave when other guests were welcomed to his mother’s drawing room.
His next stop was Caitlyn’s town residence.
He told himself he probably should have gone here first, but he was reluctant to confront Caitlyn. He genuinely wanted to see the beautiful woman who had caught his eye first in the park, then at the opera. But he was apprehensive about all the unresolved issues between them—chief of which now loomed as the continuing presence of Latham in her life.
The butler was a superior sort who seemed not to recognize the significance of this visitor. “I am sorry, sir. Mrs. Jeffries is out and Her Ladyship is entertaining her Society for Saving the Overlooked Unfortunates of Our Nation. Should you care to join them?”
“No. No. I will not intrude.” Trevor reached for a card and, taking a pen from a table in the foyer, scribbled a hasty note. “Please, give them this.”
Seven
Caitlyn knew she was merely postponing the inevitable by avoiding Trevor. Twice now he had called to find her not at home. The first time had been purely chance, but the second incident was by her design. Time was no longer on her side, and she had to come to a decision. His presence in town and absence from his wife’s home was rapidly becoming the latest on dit in ton gatherings.
Viscount Latham invited her for a drive in the afternoon of the day she had deliberately avoided Trevor. As soon as he had served a proper period of mourning for his father, the new viscount sought to renew his acquaintance with his adolescent love.
Flattered by his continued regard, Caitlyn could not bring herself to reject one of the few people in her own class to offer genuine friendship. Early on, she made it clear to him that she was not free to accept anything beyond mere friendship.
“I shall honor your wishes, Mrs. Jeffries,” he had said stiffly, “though I would hope one day to change your mind.”
“Bertie!” She did not bother to hide her impatience with him. “You need not poker up so. We were friends once. I hope we will remain so.”
“As you wish, my dear Caitlyn, for I have ever thought of you so.”
Now as he handed her into the carriage, he squeezed her hand and held it a shade longer than she found comfortable.
He took up the reins and seemed to devote himself to the business of driving, though she was aware of an occasional lingering look. She concentrated on enjoying the sunny afternoon and seeing the ton on parade in all their finery.
On entering the park, Latham slowed his horses and turned his attention directly to her. “Caitlyn, I . . . uh . . . I understand your husband is back in town.”
“Yes, he is.” She did not elaborate.
“Does that mean . . . that is . . . will he free you now that he has returned?”
“Free me?” She knew she sounded a bit haughty, but the question rankled.
He ran an index finger around his intricately tied neckcloth. “You must know there is talk of a divorce . . . I mean . . . well, ’tis well known his family does not receive you.”
“Well known, is it?” She hoped her tone would deflect this topic, but Bertie seemed determined to state his view.
“Yes, it is.” His voice was adamant, but he looked uncomfortable.
“You would do well, Bertie, not to allow yourself to be a party to common gossip.”
His face reddened at this reprimand and he caught at her hand.
“Oh, Caitlyn, my own. I would never, ever myself be a party to hurting you.” His tone fervent, he brought her gloved hand to h
is lips.
She extricated herself from his grip as adroitly as she could without drawing undue attention from passersby. “Please. Lord Latham, you forget yourself.”
“You cannot say you care nothing for me. Have you forgot what we once meant to each other?”
“Bertie, we were children.” Her tone deliberately suggested she was even now talking to a child.
“While my father lived and controlled my income, I could not approach you. And since we have become reacquainted, I thought to allow you far more time, my darling, but now his reappearance causes me to act in a more precipitous manner than I intended.”
“Bertie—Lord Latham—I hardly know what to say.”
He had stopped the team entirely, motioned his tiger to hold their heads, and turned now on the seat toward her. He grasped her hands again. “When you are free, we can be together. I care not what society will say—nor my mother! I love you, Caitlyn, and I will wait for you forever.”
His melodramatic tone struck her as funny, but she could not bring herself to crush him by openly laughing at him. “Please, Bertie. This is neither the time nor the place.” Again she loosened herself from his grip. She could see that they were attracting attention. She pasted a carefree smile on her face and nodded to an acquaintance in a passing carriage.
She was relieved when Bertie seemed to do the same, but he continued in a low tone, “I have waited for you, wanted you all these years—”
“Please. You must stop this line of discussion immediately. It is most improper.”
“My feelings are far too strong to regard empty rules of propriety,” he said in the same melodramatic tone. Caitlyn wondered if part of him sat aside applauding his performance.
“Bertie!” Her tone was stern now. “I have, in the last few weeks, enjoyed a renewal of your friendship. But never—not once—have I intended to give you reason to think I would welcome such a declaration as this.”
“But we loved each other—” he wailed.
“Whatever we may have felt for each other was over long, long ago. Over. Do you understand?”
“It was never over for me.” He seemed to be pouting now.
“Well,” she declared firmly, “I have a child whose welfare comes first for me.” In truth, she was finding him tiresome and wondered how she had ever fancied herself in love with such a shallow coxcomb.
“Which makes me admire you all the more for being willing to sacrifice your own happiness for hers.”
“Oh, good grief,” she muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, “This has gone quite far enough. I am no martyr. And I will thank you to take me home. Now.”
Finally, her tone seemed to break through the scene he imagined himself playing. He gave her a reproachful look, but he signaled his tiger and they returned in relative silence.
“I hope I may be allowed to call again?” he asked as he accompanied her to the door.
“Of course.” Her tone was distantly polite. “You are welcome—as a friend.”
He bowed and departed.
Viscount Latham’s performance in the park served as a reminder to Caitlyn that her situation was delicate, to say the least. Five years since her marriage!—since her husband had deserted her—and her feelings were as ambivalent as ever.
She had been angry when Trevor left. Furious, in fact. It was his action that had trapped her in this marriage. And then the blackguard had not even stood by her as his family and the ton gossips tore her to shreds. She was his wife. Husbands were supposed to protect their wives, were they not?
He had left her to fend for herself. Honesty compelled her to remember that he had been responsible for his Aunt Gertrude’s coming to her. She knew it had been Lady Gertrude’s own idea to come, but Trevor had not wanted her to be entirely alone, had he? Also, Caitlyn remembered the warmth they had begun to feel for each other—at least, she had thought they both felt it.
The man in the park and at the opera was not the callow youth who had left her. This man’s physical presence—even from a distance—was more solid. His shoulders were broader, and he carried himself with self-assurance, none of the swagger of the young. That first recognition as he stood at the side of the bridle path had been a shock to her. She had accepted, however reluctantly, the idea of making a life with that youth of yesterday. Could she do the same with this man?
The idea of a divorce had been repugnant from the very beginning. To the daughter of a churchman, it was especially abhorrent. Then she had discovered herself with child. She remembered being sick at the very idea of bringing a babe into such a world. She hated the idea of bearing the child of a man who despised its mother. She even thought for a while she would never be able to love the child.
How preposterous that idea seemed now! And she knew exactly when her view had changed.
She had been about six months into her pregnancy when the Jeffries family had taken the first step to be rid of her. As heir to the Wyndham title, Trevor’s brother Gerald had thought to lend his importance to the solicitor’s presence when that gentleman called at Atherton.
Caitlyn and Lady Gertrude had received the two visitors together. After greetings, Gerald said, “Um . . . Mrs. Jeffries, I wonder if we may speak with you privately of a family matter?” Caitlyn could tell he hated according her the Jeffries name.
Apprehensive, she looked at Lady Gertrude, who shrugged and excused herself, giving Caitlyn an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she left, saying, “I shall be in the next room, my dear.” Gerald nodded to the solicitor, a man of some fifty or sixty years, who was dressed soberly and seemed ingratiatingly eager to please his client.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Hmm. Yes. Now—it is our belief that your . . . uh . . . husband informed you of his and his family’s wishes?”
“Their wishes?” Caitlyn refused to make this easy for them.
“Regarding a divorce.” The lawyer’s tone was patient and condescending.
“Oh. A divorce is out of the question.” Unconsciously, she placed her hand on her stomach. “I do not know the Jeffries family history well, but divorce is simply unknown in my family.”
She saw a deep flush suffuse Gerald’s features. “Now see here, madam. This so-called marriage is a ridiculous embarrassment to my family.”
“The marriage was not of my making,” she said, keeping her voice calm, “but I am assured it is perfectly legal.”
“Well, yes,” the lawyer said, “and as such may be legally—and I may say quietly—dissolved.”
“It will be quietly dissolved only if I quietly agree. I do not agree.” She enunciated each word very precisely.
The color deepened in Gerald’s face as he asked, “How much?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘How much?’ My father and I are prepared to pay to have this problem go away. How much?”
“The ‘problem,’ as you put it, is not going to go away.” Caitlyn felt the babe move as though to confirm its interest in the discussion. “I do not mean to be rude, sir, but I fail to see how you are concerned at all.”
Gerald looked nearly apoplectic as he said stiffly, “I speak for the Earl of Wyndham in saying it is simply unacceptable that our name be involved in such a distasteful affair.”
Not knowing quite how to respond to this, Caitlyn remained silent, so Gerald went on, “You may congratulate yourself that the scheme you and Fiske manufactured has proved so lucrative. I ask you again—how much?”
“You, sir, are insulting. I believe this interview is over.” She tried to rise gracefully, but in her condition that proved impossible.
“Please. Just a moment, Mrs. Jeffries,” the lawyer said in a conciliatory tone. “I would ask you to reconsider. The earl is prepared to give you enough to allow you to go to the American colonies, where you may begin your life all over. And to provide adequately for your child.”
“Oh, I see.” She could not quell the sarcasm. “All I have to do is hang a label of illegitimacy on
my babe.”
“No one need ever know.” The lawyer looked at Gerald, who nodded, and the two of them rose. “We shall leave you now, madam. I would urge you to consider carefully the earl’s generous offer. Next time he may not be so magnanimous.”
When they had gone, Caitlyn railed against these two—as well as the earl and her uncle and, finally and most vehemently, against her absent husband.
“My dear, such strong emotion is not good for your babe,” Aunt Gertrude cautioned.
“He—or she—may as well know right off its mama has a temper. The idea! ‘Magnanimous,’ indeed!” She spit out the word. “Declare your child a bastard and we will treat you well.”
“Now, now, dear.”
A year later the lawyer returned—without the odious Gerald this time. His message was essentially the same. And so was hers. She remained adamant about protecting the interests of her daughter. Gossip might question the child’s parentage, but Caitlyn would never willingly acquiesce to a court’s denying Ashley’s legal rights.
By that time, however, Caitlyn’s hard work on Atherton had already begun to pay off. That is, she could see that rewards would eventually materialize. She remembered well her sense of triumph when she had directed her own solicitor to inform Wyndham’s agent that henceforth the family of Mr. Trevor Jeffries would not rely on Wyndham’s largess.
Lady Gertrude had been invaluable, providing help wherever it was needed. Without asserting herself as an authority, that intrepid lady set about training her nephew’s bride to command a large staff.
Having demanded that Mrs. Bassett turn over the ledgers of household accounts, Caitlyn read them with interest as a source of knowledge about her new home. Then she read them with a sense of puzzlement. Something was wrong, but Caitlyn could not put her finger on the problem. She asked Aunt Gertrude to examine the accounts. Immediately, the older woman pointed out precisely how the housekeeper had managed to juggle the books so as to double her salary.